Ljubljana: Mesto, Ki Me Je Čakalo

“Slovenia is a magical place, the person who comes here guided by their heart will surely have an Aha! moment that will change them forever”

Lively cafés and bars line the canals from afternoon until late into the night, as the sky fades into a soft lavender. Fresh, homegrown fruits and flowers spill from the hands of street vendors, their colours blending into the vibrancy of the city. Bright, open squares center around marble fountains, connecting a maze of cobblestone alleys that wind through colorful, patterned buildings adorned with abstract statues. Tales of the dragon who sleeps behind the castle above whisper through the streets, woven into Ljubljana’s rich history.

Here, there are no cars, no noise—just people. People reading, walking, watching, resting under the green willows by the water or perched along the Triple Bridge, letting the stillness of the city settle in. I arrived in Slovenia two weeks before my 22nd birthday, in the height of spring. The air was warm yet crisp, wonderfully fresh, as if untouched. My water bottle sank into the cold, pristine lakes to be filled with water so clean it felt almost sacred—no motorized boats are allowed here, only the gentle wooden pletna rowboats rocking against the shore.

Ljubljana feels like a fairy tale, quaint, immaculately clean, impossibly serene. It almost seems unreal, yet it fills you with hope—proof of what a city can be when it truly commits to protecting the environment. Voted the Greenest City in the World in 2017, Ljubljana embodies sustainability, balance, and a deep reverence for nature.

And what’s not to love about a place that quite literally has ‘love’ in its name?

Cycling through Bled’s green, open fields, dotted with wildflowers, felt like heaven on earth. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and distant waters. The rhythm of my pedals matched the gentle hum of nature—endless green stretching out before me, framed by the towering peaks of the Julian Alps.

Hiking, camping, and sleeping between the mountains of Bohinj felt like an immersion into something ancient, something sacred. Waking up to snow-capped peaks reflecting in the still waters of the lake was pure tranquility, a scene untouched by time. The forest paths of Triglav National Park held their own kind of magic—mystery woven into the moss-covered trees, the hush of footsteps swallowed by centuries-old earth, the whisper of the wind like an untold story.

The emerald rivers of Vintgar Gorge wound their way through rugged rock formations, carving a path so vibrant it seemed surreal. Predjama Castle, perched within a mountain like something out of myth, sent shivers down my spine. Wandering its abandoned rooms, I swore I could feel the ghosts of the past watching. It had been a place I’d dreamed of seeing for years, and now, standing before its towering stone walls, I felt like I had stepped into a forgotten legend.

Then, deep underground, Postojna Cave swallowed us whole. The rollercoaster-like train ride through its vast chambers was thrilling, yet humbling. This was a world untouched by daylight, where silence reigned, and every step felt like a quiet negotiation with the unknown. I treaded softly, half-expecting the echoes to awaken something ancient lurking in the shadows.

Every day in Slovenia was an adventure—making friends, racing down floating jetties to dive into ice-cold lakes, sharing slice after slice of Kremsnita in a cozy mountain cabin. Each moment was woven into the landscape itself, a fleeting yet permanent part of this wild and breathtaking place.

For the past two weeks, I have felt more mindful and at peace than I have in a long time. It was as if the mountains of Bohinj cradled my thoughts, allowing them to settle like the still waters of the lake. As I began my hike one morning, a realization struck me—it had been exactly a year since I had graduated from university. The weight of that moment settled deep in my chest.

I paused, placing my hands over my heart, breathing in the crisp alpine air, and feeling an overwhelming gratitude wash over me. And then, I cried. But these were not tears of sadness or longing; they were tears of joy, of recognition, of deep appreciation. I silently thanked my past self—not just for bringing me to Slovenia and its towering peaks, not just for the past year in France, but for daring to step out onto this path of the unknown. For trusting my intuition, for choosing the adventure, for embracing the wild. This is exactly where I am meant to be, I thought. And that is a feeling I want to carry with me for the rest of my life.

On Palm Sunday, during Velika Noč (Easter in Slovenia), I wandered through the town and felt completely wrapped in the moment. The festival brought the streets to life—rows of markets bursting with color, food stalls brimming with fresh delights, and spring greenery woven into wildflower crowns hanging outside wooden church doors. These doors, carved with intricate biblical stories, stood open as bells from the town hall chimed in the distance. There was a sense of timelessness here, a feeling of belonging. People sat shoulder to shoulder at long wooden tables in the squares, sharing food, stories, and laughter.

It was a feast for the heart, soul, and stomach, and in that moment, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Tasteful, heart-warming graffiti exists in the most unexpected of places in this fairy-tale town

As I stood admiring the markets, I found myself just as mesmerized by the faces around me as by the wares on display. It was as if time had stretched itself thin, wrapping around the square and gently pressing pause. No one rushed to be anywhere; no hurried footsteps or anxious glances at watches. Instead, people moved with a kind of quiet reverence—content, unhurried, and deeply present.

Before I took the photograph above, a girl strolled past, smiling as she met my gaze. Through rose-colored sunglasses, she winked at me, the kind of knowing, playful gesture that lingers. She swung a woven basket of fresh flowers at her side, her dog trotting faithfully beside her. She looked so at ease, so assured, as if she carried a secret I wasn’t yet meant to know. Maybe she was me from another life.

A few moments later, as I stood by a water bubbler, motionless, absorbing everything, I was waved over by an elderly woman. Our eyes met, and her soft, wrinkled face stretched into a smile that felt like homecoming. As I approached, she reached out, gently taking my hands in hers, and placed in them the most precious gift—a Butarica, a woven bundle of spring greenery and dried flowers tied together with a rainbow ribbon, crafted in celebration of Jesus’ resurrection. A tradition tracing back to 9th-century pagan medieval Europe, Butarica is one of the most intricate and unique of its kind.

She pointed at the flowers, then at herself, silently telling me that she had made them. I bowed to thank her, still holding her hands, and in return, she blessed me. Her voice wove a quiet prayer as our foreheads leaned together, a moment of unspoken understanding. A moment of solace.

This small, seemingly hidden city has been one of the most earthly, peaceful places I have ever stepped into. I haven’t felt this way about a place since I was in Iceland—a sense of deep-rooted stillness, as if the air itself carried a secret meant just for me.

It may sound strange, but Ljubljana felt like a lover I had been waiting for. For so long, I had been silently reading amorous poems, aching for something or someone I may never meet—and then, somehow, here it was. A city that embraced me without question, as if it had been expecting me all along.

Is it humanly possible to fall in love with a fragment of the Earth? I seem to keep finding pieces of myself in the places I visit—unexpectedly, yet perfectly placed, like clues in a mystery I am slowly unraveling. Fragments of my soul, of memories I have not yet lived, hidden in the atmosphere, the air, the kindness of strangers who speak of dreams as if they are already real.

The wilderness of Slovenia and the heartbeat of Ljubljana gave me the best of both worlds. Vast, pristine landscapes and enchanted forest paths that I still dream of today—a place where the Earth breathes freely. And in town, I found kindred spirits—souls who danced with me in the pink square after sharing strawberry ciders by the canals, who dreamt alongside me as we swapped stories of faraway places, whispering, “I’ve always wanted to do that,” or, “Maybe we could meet there one day.”

We shared tales of heartbreak at sunset, sitting atop the castle, taking turns on the wooden swing. There, under the golden sky, it was easy to believe that life is made up of these small, infinite moments—the ones that stay with you, long after you’ve left.

I have simultaneously found and left a piece of my heart here,

I will be back for you one day Slovenia,

Hvala lepa

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